


Endurance to Spare

by MavenAlysse



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Energizer Bunny, Gen, He just keeps going and going and going...., Underestimated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenAlysse/pseuds/MavenAlysse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone set up Blair up for a "few" runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning...

'The Sentinel' fanfiction story.

Warnings: none

Spoilers: set sometime during third season.

 

Endurance to Spare

by: Jennifer Ruth a.k.a MavenAlysse

 

Summary: Blair gets set up for a “few” runs.

 

A/N: I want to thank Aislynn Graves for all the help she's given me on this story.  I started it nearly five years ago (yes, five!) when she and I were active 'Sentinel' watchers.  Browsing around in her house, I came across an interesting anthropological book by Jonathon F. Cassel (see author's notes at end of story for a full work cited). Fascinated, I read it from cover to cover and instantly had a story idea that combined the information with our dear Guide, Blair Sandburg.   Sadly, as I neared the end of the story, I lost my muse (as well as my writing partner who moved away to New Hampshire) and the story languished upon my computer until about three months ago when Ais returned for a lengthy visit.  The muse returned, the juices flowed once more, and the story was finally finished!  ::huzzah!::   I hope that you enjoy.  2/21/2011.

 

 

# Endurance to Spare

 

Chapter 1: In the beginning...

 

 

“All right, people,” Captain Simon Banks stood in his doorway, a sheaf of papers in his hand.  “The department’s annual charity track meet and long distant run is coming up.  For those of you who don’t know the drill, you sign up for a run, then get sponsors, the more the better.  Half of everything raised goes to the Precinct and the other half goes to one of the local charities – all money donated to members of Major Crimes goes to the Barker Street Soup Kitchen.” He dropped the papers on Rhonda’s desk.  “Date’s set for three weeks from now.  So come sign up, the Chief of Police wants these in by the end of the day.”  He sauntered back into his office to watch as the others tried to squirm out of it.

 

**

 

Two men exchanged sly grins as they huddled over the sign-in sheet that made its way around the department.

 

**

 

-The Next Day-

 

Simon Banks absently cast his gaze down the list of entries for the various track events.  The Chief of Police had approved the list and the Captain wanted to ensure he’d have enough officers to fill the shift.  A repeated name caught his attention and a frown creased his forehead.  Annoyed, he picked up the phone.  “Yes, sir.  About that entry list.  …  No, sir, we have a problem.  One of my people was listed several times. … Yes, sir, him.  …  No, sir, you don’t understand, he wasn’t here yesterday, there’s no way he could have signed up for …  No, sir, I don’t think that … Yes, but … Yes, sir.”  He heaved a resigned sigh.  “I understand, sir.” He hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stem a growing headache, his mood and stomach soured.

 

With reluctance, he rose from his seat and opened the door, scanning the bullpen.  “Ellison, Sandburg.  My office, now!”

 

The two partners exchanged puzzled looks before entering the Captain’s office.  “What’s up, Simon?”  Blair eased into a seat, eyes darting from Simon’s exasperated face to the paper the taller man was tapping with agitation.

 

“We had the charity sign up yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, Jim was telling me about that.  Sorry I couldn’t be here, Simon. Maybe I’d have signed up for an event.”

 

Simon squeezed the bridge of his nose, a pained look crossing his face. “It appears someone signed up for you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Silently, Banks handed over the event list to the police observer.  Ellison leaned over Blair’s shoulder, his expression growing stormy. Sandburg stared at the list for a long moment, then looked up, faint disbelief in his eyes.  “Am I reading this right?”

 

“Afraid so, Sandburg.”

Blair looked back down at the sheet.  “Ah, man.  That sucks.”

 

Jim’s voice was tight with annoyance, “Oh, come on Simon.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Five different runs?  And they’re practically one right after another.”

 

“Look, I tried to tell the Chief of Police that it was a mistake, but he isn’t having any of it.  Seems the Mayor found out about it and he’s ecstatic about our volunteers getting involved.  Said something about being beneficial for public relations.”  Banks’ voice was bitter.

 

“Ah, man,” Blair repeated.  He slumped in his seat, one hand over his eyes, massaging his temples.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Chief.  You don’t have to do this.  You never sighed up for anything.”  Jim grasped his friend’s shoulder in support.

 

“No.”

 

Both Simon and Jim exchanged confused looks and Jim’s grip tightened slightly.  “No, what, Chief?”

 

“No, I’m not backing out.”  Blair rose to his feet, pacing distractedly around the office.  “One – my name’s already on the list.  A list, I should remind you, that has already been distributed throughout the Precinct.  If I withdraw now I lose face, and I’ve worked too hard to gain any respect around this place to throw it away.”  His hands were waving, emphasizing his points. “Two – it’s for charity.  The soup kitchen on Barker, right?” At Simon’s affirmative, the police observer continued.  “They were always nice to me, anything to help them out.”  He had paused at the window, staring blindly out at the bullpen and missed the surprised looks on the older men’s faces.  Jim shrugged in confusion at Simon’s raised eyebrow.  “And finally –“ Blair turned to face them, gazing steadily at the two, eyes bright with a combination of anger, mischief and a certain amount of smugness. “I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.  The gauntlet’s been thrown, and whoever signed me up is in for one hell of a surprise.”

 

**

 

Vice Officer Charles Stone glanced around the break room.  Spotting Homicide Detective Marshall Weaver, he moved over to the counter and busied himself with pouring a cup of coffee.  “Did you hear? Sandburg’s going through with all the events we signed him up for.”

 

Weaver leaned back in his chair, a surprised look on his face.  “You’re kidding.  Huh, thought the little hippie would’ve backed off.”

 

Weaver nearly fell out of his chair, and Stone choked on a mouthful of coffee at a low voice.  “Guess you don’t know him very well, do you?”

 

Turning, the two police officers could only stare.  Detective Henri Brown stood in the doorway, tension and anger radiating off him.  “Just what the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”

 

“Oh, come off it,” Weaver snorted.  “It was just a joke.  We didn’t think the kid would actually go through with it.”

 

“Nah, you thought he’d back off, chicken out?  Like I said, you don’t know him very well.”  He crossed his arms, his eyes still boring into them angrily.  “You had no right to sign Sandburg up for anything.  Not without his permission.  Sandburg’s a civilian, a volunteer.  He has a full time job at the University.  There’s no telling what he’s going to have to cancel in order to fit your little joke into his exceedingly busy schedule.”

 

Stone shrugged, though he looked a bit uneasy.  “All right, so we signed him up.  Hell, he’s been able to keep up with Ellison for this long, a few runs shouldn’t be any trouble.”

 

“But you don’t think he’ll be able to complete all those runs.”  The statement was flat and the anger in the black detective’s eyes finally took some of the smirk off of Weaver’s face.  Brown shifted his stance, relaxing as an edged smile graced his features.  “There isn’t much I can do.  The list’s been approved and Sandburg’s agreed to do the runs.  I won’t tell him who signed him up.”

 

Stone interrupted.  “Why not?” he asked, suspiciously.

 

Henri looked at him blandly.  “I don’t want your deaths on my conscience.”

 

The two conspirators exchanged glances.  Weaver narrowed his eyes, angry over the overt threat.  “What do you mean by that, Brown?”

 

“If I let Sandburg know who did this, how long do you think it will be before Ellison gets wind of it?  And I can tell you, he is decidedly displeased with the whole affair.”  The two blanched at the thought of the legendary Ellison rage directed at them.  Brown nodded sagely and continued.  “So, this is what we’re going to do.  The two of you are going to sponsor Sandburg’s runs.  Anonymously, if you wish.  Twenty-five dollars for each of the smaller runs, fifty for the long distance run.”

 

Stone and Weaver nodded their agreement.  Brown turned to leave.  Stone muttered, “Only have to pay if he finishes the race.”

 

“How about we up the stakes?”  Brown was turned away from them, but had not left the break room.  Stone flushed, wondering if he’d been heard.

 

Detective Weaver shifted in his seat.  “How do you mean?”

 

Brown faced them, leaning against the door jamb.  “Little friendly wager between the three of us.”

 

Both men were suspicious.  “What kind of wager?”

 

“For each race he places second or third in, you cough up twenty-five dollars in addition to the money you already sponsored.  Fifty if he places first in any race.”

 

The two men exchanged glances.  Weaver spoke for the both of them. “Deal.  But if he doesn’t finish a race, you owe us each fifty.”

 

“Agreed.” Brown ended the discussion by stalking out of the break room.

 

Stone’s voice wavered nervously.  “You think he’ll welsh on the bet?”

 

“No, Brown’s a man of his word.  If Sandburg doesn’t finish a race, he’ll pay up.”  Weaver rose from his seat and patted Stone’s shoulder.  “By the end of the event, we should at least be up fifty dollars.  There’s no way that kid is going to be able to run all four of the sprints and still have enough energy to run the 50 kilometer.”

 

**

 

The next three weeks passed quickly.  Simon Banks sorted through the list of sponsor donations each participant had turned in; checking off names, making sure everyone’s was accounted for.  He pulled a list constituting of several sheets of paper, glanced at the name of the participant, then picked up his phone.  “Jim, send your partner in here when he gets in, will you?  No, he’s not in trouble.  I just had a question about his list of sponsors.  Thank you.”

 

An hour later there was a knock on his door.  It opened and the young police observer stuck his head in.  “You wanted to see me, Simon?”

 

“Have a seat, Sandburg.”  He pulled out the sheaf of papers, centering them on the desk.  “Can you explain this to me?”

 

Blair grinned sheepishly.  He reached over, took the papers, unstapled them and handed back the first sheet.  “These are all the people in the precinct who volunteered to sponsor me.  They’re mainly the office staff, Forensics, Major Crimes, and some from Homicide and Vice.”

 

“They all think you can handle these runs?”  Simon stared at the names; he couldn’t believe how much money some of them were donating.  ‘If he completes the runs.’

 

Blair snorted, though his eyes remained bright with humor.  “No.  A good third on the list only put down so much on the 50 k because they don’t think they’ll have to pay.  But the rest believe I can do it.”  He handed over another page.  “These are some sponsors from my neighborhood.  Almost everyone in our apartment complex, as well as some of the businesses Jim and I frequent.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that Jim had some of the same names on his list.  What about those other two pages?  There’s a lot more written down than name and amount donated.”

 

“These are from the University.”  He handed over one of the sheets. “Regular donations, mostly from some professors I know, as well as joint donations from some of the clubs on campus.  That’s what that extra writing is, name of the club as well as the treasurer who’ll pay the donation after the events are done.”  He handed over the last sheet.  “This one’s a bit different.  College students aren’t very rich, you know.”  He flashed a grin at the taller man.  Simon shook his head, but returned it.  “A few did a straight donation.  Others wanted to show their support, but can’t afford to donate money, or are really, um … anti-authority.  They don’t want their money going to the police.” Blair shrugged an apology. “So they’re donating time.”

 

“I’m not sure I understand, Sandburg.”

 

“It’s simple.  If I finish a race, they’ll donate said amount of time to the Soup Kitchen.  It lets the students show their support without draining their limited resources and gives the Soup Kitchen the extra help it desperately needs.  I already cleared it with both the Soup Kitchen and the Chief of Police, so there shouldn’t be any problems.”

 

“I’m impressed.  All right, that’s all I needed to know.”  He waved Blair out of the room.

 


	2. At the track...

Endurance to Spare

 

Chapter 2: 'At the track...'

 

 

The day of the charity event dawned bright and sunny, a rarity in Cascade that had virtually all of its inhabitants taking advantage of the good weather.  The Cascade Athletics Center was nearly filled to capacity.  Off-duty officers had come with their families to support their fellow officers.  Sponsors of the various athletes had arranged themselves in the bleachers, some jumping up and down waving hand-made signs, others more staid in their support.  The rest were interested civilians who provided their own means of support through some judicial side-betting.

 

Of particular interest was the police observer who was signed up to run in five nearly consecutive runs.  Speculation was high, and the betting was fast and furious as those who doubted bet considerable sums with those who were confident that the young man could succeed.

 

In the grass near the starting line, unaware that he was the object of so much gossip, Blair took deep breaths to center himself, leaning over and bouncing lightly to touch his toes as he readied himself for his first race.  Twisting, he felt several vertebrae pop in his back and neck and he jogged a bit in place, trying to stave off the cold. The air was crisp with a slight chill, but Blair knew that the races would soon warm him up, so he left the light jacket off while he stretched.

 

“How are you doing, Chief?”  Jim strode over the grass to stand beside him.  Since his only run for the day was the 50 k, he wouldn’t need to warm up for several hours yet and so still had his gray police sweats on.

 

“A bit nervous.  But pretty good, all in all.  I didn’t think there’d be so many people here,” Blair admitted with a wave at the packed stadium. 

 

Jim spotted a sign near the top of the bleachers and chuckled.  He pointed it out to Blair.  “Looks like you’ve got your own cheering section, Chief.”

 

Blair slipped on his glasses briefly.  He grinned as he recognized a group of students he taught.  A good twelve to fifteen people wearing the distinct scarlet and gold colors of Rainier University were stomping their feet and clapping their hands in time to a chant that was barely discernible over the noise of the crowd.  Blair shook his head in chagrin at the sign they held that read: ‘Hey, Officer, Observe This!’ with a picture of the RoadRunner sporting glasses and a ponytail crossing the finish line first beneath it.  “Guess I better not let them down, huh?”  He gathered his shoulder length hair into a ponytail and struck a pose.  “What do you think?  Huh? Maybe I should start the race by saying ‘Meep, meep!’”

 

Jim grinned and gently took the glasses off his partner’s face.  “Oh, yeah, that’ll go over real good with the other runners.  Talk about psyching out your opponents.”  He slipped the glasses into his pocket for safekeeping, tugging on a lock of his friend’s hair.

 

Scanning the rest of the stadium, a faint frown line creased Blair’s forehead.  “You know, I’m the only ‘volunteer’ in any of the events.  I know I’m not an officer, I hope no one’s upset that I’m racing against them, even if it wasn’t deliberate.  I mean, I am just an observer.”

 

Jim felt his own brow wrinkle as he tried to reassure his friend. “You’re a part of the Cascade Police Department, Blair.  You’ve got as much right to be here as anyone else does.  I wouldn’t worry about it, Chief.  Just do your best here.  It’s all anyone can ask.”

 

Blair nodded, then returned to his stretching, drinking in the sights and sounds around him.

 

**

 

Simon Banks climbed the bleachers and sat down next to his son, handing one of the sodas to the young man.  “Glad you came, Daryl?”  He had his son for the weekend and hadn’t been too sure of his son’s reaction when he’d suggested coming to the track and field event.

 

“This is better than I expected, dad.”  The young man bounced in his seat, somehow managing not to spill his drink.  “Those guys running the 100 meter were fast and Detective Brown was fantastic in those hurtles!”

 

“First place.  He always said his youth spent hopping fences would come in handy some day.”

 

The women’s 100-meter dash was called and Daryl stood to stretch his legs.  Simon placed a hand on his arm, keeping him from bounding off. “Stick around a bit.  Sandburg’s in the next race.”

 

Daryl gazed at his father incredulously.  “Blair’s running?”  Simon couldn’t understand why his son started snickering softly.  “Oh, this should be good.”  At his father’s questioning look, Daryl merely shook his had.  “Watch and be amazed.”

 

**

 

Jim shook his head as he watched his partner.  The kid hadn’t stopped bouncing since setting foot on the track.  ‘He’s going to wear himself out before the race even starts.’  As if hearing his friend’s thoughts, Blair gave himself a shake, took a deep breath, and stilled.

 

Jim felt himself tense up in anticipation.  The 200-meter dash had enough entries to make up three heats of seven runners.  Blair was in the first heat, and that was a difficult position.  It wasn’t just the others running with you that you had to worry about, but the potential of someone in another heat being faster than you.  Blair’s race was more against the clock than anything else, and Jim prayed his friend was up to the challenge.

 

Blair turned towards him, as if recognizing his Sentinel’s fears.  With a wink he dispelled them.  Jim knew, no matter what happened, his Guide was ready for anything.

 

“Runners, on yer mark!”

 

The racers, save for Blair who merely crouched, got into their starting blocks, bracing themselves against the metal toe-holds.

 

“Get set!”

 

Blair half rose from his position, body poised, his back foot grinding slightly into the graveled racing track for better traction.  The others rose from their haunches, each awaiting the sound of the gun.

 

***Bang! ***

 

Seven men pounded down the track way, leaving behind clouds of dust in their wake.  Seven rockets flew past, but Sandburg crossed the finish line ahead of the others.

 

Jim grinned in pride; he kept forgetting how fast the kid was sometimes. Seeing one of the timekeepers approach his partner, Jim extended his hearing to listen to the official report.  He knew his face must be showing the shock he felt – eleven point two seconds.  ‘Damn.  If that doesn’t take first place, I don’t know what will.’  He struggled to school his face into a more appropriate expression; it wouldn’t do to have anyone asking awkward questions.

 

He gave Blair a thumbs-up as the young man walked around a bit, stretching out to keep from cramping up.  Focusing his hearing, Jim’s grin widened as he caught the startled exclamations of more than one person on the field and in the stands.  The impromptu betting was fast and furious.  Chuckling to himself, Jim settled back to watch the other heats, confident that no one would come close to his partner’s time.

 

**

 

Even before the last heat was completed, Simon knew that Blair had blown the other officers away.  He turned to his son, noting the slightly smug look on the younger Banks’ face.  “You knew he was going to win, didn’t you?”

 

Daryl’s smile was ear to ear.  “He once told me that he’d been on the University’s track team.  I got curious and checked the records. Wasn’t too hard, all the scores are public record.  Man, he was fast!  Then I talked to one of the coaches, Mr. Richardson.  He told me that Blair only joined in the hopes of winning some scholarship money.  And boy, did he.  Looks like he hasn’t lost his touch.”

 

The women’s 400-meter was called.

 

Simon caught a glimpse of a familiar face.  Officer Jack Nielson from Bunko was the Precinct’s unofficial bookie when it came to friendly wagering.  Listening in to the odds, a predatory smile crossed the Captain’s features and he patted Daryl’s shoulder.  “Blair’s in the 400.  I think I’m going to take up some of those bets.  Be right back.”

 

Daryl grinned after his father.  Standing, he waved his hands over his head, trying to gain Blair’s attention.  The observer looked over, and even from this distance Daryl could see the brilliant smile on Blair’s face.  Blair tossed off a wave, accepted a drink of water from his partner, and then stretched some more, readying for the next race.

 

Daryl sat down, his father rejoining him, as the 400-meter began.  This also had three heats, but Blair was in the second this time.

 

Again, seven men took their positions, and like their predecessors, took off like streaks of light.  

 

Simon whistled in admiration as Blair crossed the finish line first.  At a guess, he figured the kid had beaten everyone in the first heat. ‘Let’s see how the last one goes.’  He was startled when a large group on his right suddenly came to their feet and shouted something that sounded like “Meep, meep.”  He saw Sandburg wave and the group went crazy, howling and stomping their feet.  “All right, Professor!”  “Show ‘em how it’s done Mr. S!”  “Go, Sandburg!”

 

Daryl saw his stunned expression, jerked his head in their direction and said, “Track team.”

 

**

 

Detective Joel Taggart sat with his wife in the stands, smiling like a proud uncle as he watched Sandburg.  He’d come to care for the young anthropologist in the years he’d come to know him.  Like many others, he’d been incensed when word of Blair’s “volunteering” had come to light, but he was confident in the observer’s abilities.  When Sandburg had decided to go through with the challenge, Taggart, for one, had been 100% behind the boy – making a few judicial wagers in the process in Blair’s favor.  He knew what Blair was capable of when he set his mind to it.

 

The group of six men set themselves upon the starting line for the 800 meter run.  Taggart marveled at the focused concentration that practically flowed off the observer and he chuckled at the nervous looks the other runners cast in his friend’s direction.

 

The starter called the runners to their mark.  As the gun went off, Blair took off at a pace only marginally slower than his earlier sprints. At the quarter-mark point, the police observer cut to the inner track lane, already with a lead on the others.  Joel sat back in satisfaction as Sandburg set the pace, never letting anyone pass him up.  As he rounded the last corner, Blair sped up, pounding across the finish line in a sprint that left the spectators gasping.  The times flashed on the overhead display – 1st place = 1:58:27.

 

Chuckling to himself, Taggart calculated how much various people owed him, deciding to split the profits with the kid.  An enthusiastic thumbs-up elicited a pleased grin in response as Blair tried to relax before the next run.

 

**

 

Jim shook his head as he handed his partner a thermos and a towel.  The kid was bouncing – ‘Bouncing, for goodness sake!’  “How you holding up, Chief?”

 

Blair nodded around a mouthful of herbal tea.  “Not bad.  I’m starting to feel the strain, though.”

 

Jim frowned, brow creasing.  “I don’t want you pushing yourself, Chief.  You’ve been incredible, but tone it down if you have to. This isn’t important enough to hurt yourself over.  Got it?”

 

“I hear ya, big guy.”  The shorter man bounced on his toes, stretching out calf muscles.  “At least, after this one, I get a breather while they set up the course.  The point checkers will have to get into position before we can start.”

 

Jim monitored Blair’s vitals, satisfied that though up, his breathing and heart rate weren’t at dangerous levels.  Noticing, Blair flashed a grin at his Blessed Protector. “I’m fine.  Don’t worry.”

 

Detective Henri Brown strolled up, having finished his own stretching.  “Hey, Hairboy.  You are totally mastering the scene.”

 

Blair shook his head and grinned.  “Saw the hurtles.  Great race, man.”

 

Brown grinned back.  “Yeah, well I plan on giving you a run for the money on this next one.”

 

Blair blinked as the three headed towards the starting line.  “You’re in the mile?  I thought Brian would be running it?”

 

Brown shook his head.  “Rafe’s in the 50 k with you and Jim.  We almost talked Simon into it, but he decided to sit it out with Daryl.”

 

“Oh,” Jim chuckled. “So that’s how he got out of it.”

 

Brown nodded, eyes twinkling.  “Guess he can claim that Blair took up all the available spots.”

 

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” was the dry reply.

 

Jim patted Blair and Henry on the shoulders, whispered, “Good luck,” and left them to their preparations.

 

Blair’s gaze followed Jim’s progress through the throng then flickered over the watching crowd.  “I wonder who put me up to this anyway?”

 

“Are you mad?” Brown studied the police observer, trying to read his body language.

 

“Well, I’ll admit I was a bit annoyed at first.  I mean, what if I’d had plans I couldn’t break?  Or if I had a minor injury that would have kept me from doing this?  But, this has been fun.”  He leaned closer, lowering his voice.  “And I kind of like some the reactions I’ve noticed.”  One runner, an officer over in Vice, nodded at the two men, giving Blair a thumbs-up.  “See what I mean?  I see him around all the time and he’s never even bother to give me the time of day.”  They passed another officer who glowered at the observer.  “On the other hand…” Blair raised his hands to shoulder level in a shrug, smiling wryly.

 

Henri steered the younger man towards the starting line.  “Ah, don’t worry about him.  He probably lost a bet or something.”  He shot his own glare at Detective Weaver.  The other man blinked, chagrined, and hurried off.  “Good luck, Hairboy.”  He patted Blair’s shoulder before finding his own spot along the line.

 

“See you at the finish-line, H.”

 

Twelve men joined the line, and there was some good-natured jostling as each tried to claim the inside lane.  Brown noticed that Blair took to the outer track, a small smile on his face as he stilled, waiting for the gun to go off.  Henri only had a moment to wonder about that when the starter called “On yer Mark!  Get Set!”  * **Bang!** *  As the runners surged forward, Henri groaned to himself, suddenly understanding Blair’s ploy.  While the other runners were grouped together, each trying to stay on the inside and move ahead, but blocked in by the runners around them, the anthropologist stuck to the outer lane, bypassing the knot of men and immediately taking the lead.  He had a decent head start by the time the others straightened themselves out and Henri wondered if he’d be able to catch the kid. ‘Probably not, but it’ll be interesting to try.”

 

**

 

Simon joined his son in cheering the police observer – the Major Crimes Unit coming close to equaling the noise from the much larger Rainier group.  The kid had taken a quarter-mile lead and hadn’t lost an inch of it through the first two and a half laps.  “Think he’ll slack off?  He’s got to be exhausted by now.”  The Captain waited for his son’s response, knowing the answer he’d get.

 

He wasn’t disappointed.  Daryl shook his head, bouncing in his seat as he watched the race.  “No way.  Blair said he always holds back at the beginning of a race so he can have a strong finish.”

 

“Holding back?!” Simon’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.  “He’s been beating the pants off the entire Precinct and you tell me he’s been holding back?”

 

“Yup!” was the cheeky response.  Then Daryl clarified, “Well, just for pacing actually.  He speeds up the last half mile, then sprints the last quarter.”  The two rose to their feet, shouting and stomping as Henri broke away from the pack, closing in on Blair, but the older man had started his sprint too soon.  Before he’d closed the distance Blair hit the half-mile mark and lengthened his stride, moving farther away.  Brown tried to rally, but was obviously losing steam fast.  At the quarter-mark, Blair shifted into over-drive, sprinting full out for the finish line, ending a full half lap ahead of Brown with a time of 5:34:17.

 

**

 

Jim brought his two friends some Gatorade.  “Don’t argue, Chief. You’re out of tea and need to replenish your electrolytes.”

 

Blair rolled his eyes, but took the cup with a grin.  The three men continued walking, Brown trying to stretch a particularly stubborn muscle that was stiffening up.  “How do you do it?  Man, I only had the hurdles and they were a while back, and I nearly didn’t finish the mile.  I thought I was going to have a heart attack by the time I reached the finish line.  You’ve done four runs in a row.”

 

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short.  You did great today; a mile in 5:57.”

 

“You’ve blown everyone away, Hairboy.”

 

“I’ve had lots of practice.”  The admission was low, Henri almost missed it.  Jim raised an eyebrow at the comment.  Blair smiled self-consciously and Henri realized the kid hadn’t meant to say anything out loud.  Blair shrugged, acting casual.  “I spent so much time running away from bullies when I was younger that I figured I might as well join the teams.  The training just made it harder for people to catch me.  Meant I spent less time turning black and blue. Had some fun with one of the tribes I studied, too.  All that meditation I’ve done hasn’t hurt any either, helped me regulate how I breathe.”

 

Henri noted with some envy that Blair’s breathing was steady, whereas he still felt the need to gasp for air.  Blair grinned, an impish look that, with his wild hair, made him look years younger.  “Sides, how else would I be able to keep up with this big lug?”  He tapped Jim’s arm, then ducked the light cuff the large man aimed his way.

 

“You’d think he’d be too tired to mouth off to his ride home,” Jim stated blandly.  “Remember, Chief, I know where you live.”

 

Blair recoiled in mock-terror and started salaaming.  “Oh, Great One.  No offense was intended.  Please forgive me.”

 

Brown covered his mouth to hide his smile but couldn’t contain his laughter when Jim’s eyes lit up and he said, “I could get like this.”

Blair stuck his tongue out at the two men, but his eyes twinkled in merriment.

 

Brian Rafe strolled over.  “You guys were great.”  He lightly punched Blair in the arm.  “Do you have any idea how much money you’re bringing in?”

 

“More than anyone’s ever made before.”  They looked to see Simon and Daryl heading their way.  “I spoke tot he event coordinator.  Major Crimes has the most donations vouched for.  We even exceeded last year’s take.  You’re a real surprise to everyone, Sandburg.”

 

The Taggarts crossed the track, followed closely by Megan Conner.  The Australian bussed Blair’s cheek and linked arms with his, smiling at his blush.  “I’ve never seen anyone run so fast, Sandy.”

 

Joel agreed, beaming, “I wish I had half your energy, Blair.”

 

Blair waved his free hand, grinning sheepishly.  “I lucked out, the past few days have been relatively quiet.  I got to catch up on my sleep.” He turned to Jim.  “I studied the route, but some parts don’t look very familiar.  Anything I should be on the lookout for?”

 

Jim pulled out his copy of the map.  “Most of this is outside Cascade proper, in the Hill Country.  Mostly forest, so you have to watch your footing.  Other than the road leading to and from the track, the race is cross country in every sense of the word.”

 

Rafe nodded.  “It’s the same course they had the cadets run as part of their P.E. requirements five years ago.  They dropped it after too many complaints – no one could see the reason for making it count as part of the Academy requirements.  Who would run after someone that far?”

 

Joel interrupted to ask, “Ever run a marathon before, Blair?”

 

<”Attention. First call – 50 kilometer Run. First call – 50 kilometer Run. Will all runners please report to the run coordinator near the starting line.”>

 

Only Jim heard the murmured, “In a sense,” and only he saw the small smile that creased his partner’s face as the group headed towards the starting line to get their names checked off and to receive their numbers.

 

“The run will take place in one hour.  Make sure you stretch well beforehand.”  The run coordinator checked off each name and handed them their number and pins needed to attach them to their clothing.

 

By mutual agreement, the group strolled outside the track area and found a shady tree to settle themselves.  Rafe shook his head at Blair’s lunch – fruit and water.  “So that’s all you’re having”

 

“Quick energy.  It’ll digest fast.  That,” he nodded towards the turkey sandwich the detective held, “Will feel like a lead weight in your belly before you’re half-way through.”  He nodded sagely; taking another bite from his apple as the others chuckled at Rafe’s expression.

 

“Be right back,” the detective murmured as he rose, dumped his sandwich into a trash bin and headed towards the snack bar for some appropriate food.

 

After eating, the non-participants left the runners to their stretching.  A moment later, Megan returned in running attire, sporting a number. Blair welcomed her with a dazzling smile.  “You’re running?”

 

She sank down between him and Ellison, leaning over to grab her toes. “Wouldn’t miss this, Sandy.  I did a few marathons back home, so I figured, why not, right?”

 

“Good to have you aboard,” Jim rumbled and the Australian gave one of her own smiles.


	3. The Marathon...

Endurance to Spare

 

Chapter 3: “The marathon...”

 

Forty-three members of the Cascade, PD lined up for the 50 km run.  The rest of the morning’s athletes joined the spectators to see them off where they would listened to the runners’ progress through the walkie-talkies each check-point had.  Only a few runners had participated in any of the other runs, and none in as many as the volunteered anthropologist, so the group was fresh and ready to go. Several individuals openly stared in amazement at Sandburg, who was once more bouncing on the balls of his feet with a grin on his face as he listened to the last minute explanations.

 

“Remember, this is a 50 kilometer run, or 32 miles for those of you who could never figure out the metric system.”  There was a smattering of laughter.  “As you pass each checkpoint, your number will be registered as well as your times.  If at any point you feel you cannot continue, merely flag down the timer who will get you a ride back to the starting point.  A sweep will be made for anyone who falls along the wayside.  Please remember, this is for charity, there’s no need to push yourself to the point of injury.”

 

Jim shot Blair a meaningful look.  Blair merely smiled and continued to bounce.  Rafe murmured, “Sheesh, Sandburg, you’re making me tired just watching you.”

 

Blair winked and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s the idea.”

 

Rafe laughed and Megan merely shook her head in amusement.  A few runners nearby who overheard rolled their eyes good-naturedly.  Jim moved closer to them, his hearing already picking up on some impromptu betting among the runners themselves and he strove to hide his grin. Several were going to be highly disappointed – he had a feeling Blair had a few more surprises in store for all those who consistently underestimated his partner.  “Ready for this, Chief?”

 

“It’s just another game.”  At Jim’s, Rafe’s and Megan’s puzzled looks he said, “When were done, remind me to tell you about the Taramahara Tribe.  I think it’ll help explain some things.”

 

The run coordinator rose his hand for their attention.  “Everyone to your places.”  Most everyone lined themselves up according to how well they did on their last recorded PE test.  Megan chose to start near the middle of the group, not planning on pushing herself, she’d be happy as long as she finished.  Brian took a spot closer to the front, he’d done well on his last cross-country run and hoped to do similarly well on this one.  Jim was at the front and was unsurprised to see Blair slide through the group and stand by Jim’s left elbow. “Think you’ll be able to keep up, Chief?”

 

Blair shot a cheeky grin at his taller friend and there was a gleam of suppressed mischief in his eyes.  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about me, big guy.  I’ve got an edge no one else here has.”

 

Jim frowned, “And what might that be?”

 

“I’m an anthropologist,” and with that Blair surged forward as the gun went off.

 

Jim cursed, unprepared, and immediately rejoined Blair.  He glared down at his friend.  Blair gave an innocent grin in response.

 

**

 

They had run five miles.  Megan couldn’t even see the Major Crimes boys. None had been sidelined, so she assumed they were still in the race. ‘I just wish I had enough breath to ask how they were doing.’ It had been a few years since she’d run a marathon, but she’d kept fit and soon found her pace.

 

**

 

They hit the halfway mark.  Jim could hear Rafe a few hundred yards behind.  The younger detective had hit his stride, heart beat fast, but steady, a definite monotonous rhythm in his footsteps.  Jim shook his head, easing himself from an incipient zone-out.  ‘Can’t have that now, can we?’ he thought to himself with a wry grin.  Instead, he focused on Blair.  The anthropologists’ breathing was slow and steady – a runner’s trick were large breaths were taken and exhaled slowly in order to oxygenate the blood.  His heartbeat was fast, but not dangerously so.   What threw Jim off was the odd staccato beat of his friend’s footsteps.  As Blair was still hugging his elbow, he didn’t try to check out the younger man’s stride – with there luck one of them would end up overbalancing and winding up in the hospital.  The sound sparked a memory – he once watched a younger cousin practicing soccer tricks.  Blair’s footsteps sounded the same, like he was kicking a ball around, sans ball.  ‘What is he doing?”  Now aware of it, the sound couldn’t be dismissed.  The uneven steps were distracting, but Jim found he was no longer in danger of zoning while he ran.  Jim sighed and put his attention back on the trail.

 

**

 

Brian Rafe rounded a turn in the trail, a knot of officers were a few yards behind him.  Ellison and Sandburg were ahead, steadily pulling away. Rafe felt a grin spread across his face, it was looking like he was going to be collecting from Detective Sandra Belis down in Forensics. Blair was still going strong.

 

Rafe blinked, then blinked again.  ‘Am I seeing things?’  Rafe looked again.  ‘Nope, I’m definitely not seeing things.’  Blair’s feet did a crazy stagger step for a few paces, smoothed out for a few more, staggered for a handful of steps, then back to a steady stride. ‘It looks like he’s dancing instead of running.’  Rafe shook his head, trying not to laugh and throw off his breathing.  ‘Only you, Blair, would dance a marathon.’ 

 

**

 

Henry Brown sat back down where the non-running membersof Major Crimes had staked out a section of bleachers near one of the check-in radios.  He passed out the drinks he brought. “What’s the scoop?”

 

Banks nodded his thanks as he took a sip of soda.  “Megan’s doing well. She’s slightly ahead of the main knot of runners.”

 

Taggart broke in. “Brian’s holding his own near the front.  Hope he can keep up the pace.”

 

“How about Jim and Blair?”

 

Daryl’s grin could have rivaled one of Blair’s own.  “They’re in the front.  First place, in fact.”  The pride and awe were evident in the teenager’s voice.

 

“Going strong?” Henri asked casually as he took a drink from his own cup.

 

“From what the person at the last check point said, Jim was in stoic mode.” Simon shook his head, aware that when the situation called for it, his best detective could and would focus everything down to a point where only the job could be seen.  He also knew that Blair would make sure Jim didn’t lose himself in that focus.

 

“And Blair?”

 

Joel frowned briefly, detecting perhaps a touch more concern that the situation warranted.  “Terrific.  Gave the guy a big grin and commented on the fact that it was a great day for a run.”

 

Each chuckled at the image and Henri relaxed some.

 

“Large bet riding on the outcome?”  Joel asked, once more wondering exactly who had signed up his young friend for so many runs all at once.  ‘Couldn’t have been Henri, he wouldn’t do that to Blair. And regardless of how well Blair did, Henri knows full well what Ellison would do to him if he found out.’

 

Henri nodded, his gaze locked on something or someone off to one side. “You could say that.”

 

Joel followed his gaze and found himself staring at the forms of Officer Stone and Detective Weaver.  He turned back to Henri, glad to note that none of the others had noticed the odd exchange.  “A word, Detective?”  He jerked his head and rose, patting his wife’s hand absently.

 

Henri followed, a sinking feeling in his stomach.  “What's up, Joel?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing.”  He studied the younger man intently.  “You wouldn't by any chance happen to know who set Blair up, would you?”

 

Henri crossed his arms, his eyes anywhere but on Joel.  “What makes you say that?”

 

“Oh, come on Brown.  I did not become Captain by my looks alone.  Give me some credit here.  You avoiding the question is just as telling as if you answered it.  My question is, why haven't you told Blair?”

 

Brown straightened, locking gazes with Taggart.  “To be honest, I didn't tell Blair because I didn't want Ellison going postal on the idiots, possibly doing something to jeopardize his job.  I've spoken to both of them of the ramifications of what they have done.  They're sponsoring Blair.”  A faint smirk crossed the Detective's lips. “They're even coughing up two hundred extra each since Blair finished first in all his previous races.”

 

Taggart sighed, shaking his head.  “Perhaps.  But what they did was unprofessional, prejudiced, and down-right cruel.  Blair should be told, he has the right to know who put him up for this.  Also, these men's supervisors need to be told as well.  I for one, do not like the idea of members of this police force taking part in malicious practical jokes on civilians.”  He leaned closer to the smaller man, impressing upon him the seriousness of the situation.  “I believe it is up to you to make sure this gets solved in a quick and timely manner.”

 

Henri nodded, then a mischievous grin lit his face.  “I told them I wouldn't tell Blair because I didn't want their deaths on my conscience.  But I shouldn't underestimate Blair.  I'm sure he can keep his partner under control.  Don't worry, Joel.  I'll take care of it.”

 

**

 

Blair had hit his stride.  He half-closed his eyes, allowing his body to find it's own rhythm, enjoying the sensation of just letting go as he ran.  It had been years since he'd done this and he'd had a momentary fear that this race would definitely finish him.  But once he'd put everything but the game out of his mind, he'd found that time meant nothing.  His legs tingled pleasantly, his deep breaths keeping lactate acid build-up to a minimum.  He kept his upper limbs and torso loose as he'd been taught, leaning back slightly, as if running downhill.  He'd kept up the stutter-step, it kept Jim from zoning on the usual monotonous runner's stride, but now he itched to really let loose.  He'd stayed at Jim's side, doing his duty as Guide, keeping his Sentinel safe, but now felt the need to finish the race at his own pace.  “Hey, Jim?”

 

Ellison glanced over at Sandburg, one brow raised in question.

 

“We've only got another 5k to go.  Three miles.  Mind if I ...?” he trailed off, one hand motioning towards the upcoming path.

 

“You ... still ... going ... strong?” Jim asked between breaths, trying to maintain his regulated breathing.

 

Blair flashed him a brilliant grin.  “Could run like this forever.  And I'm itching to check out the rest of the trail solo.  But only if you don't mind.”

 

Jim was silent for a moment.  “Only ... if you ... do me ... a favor.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“Be ... careful.  ...  Don't ... push ... so hard ... you hurt ... yourself.”

 

“You got it, Big Guy.  You be careful, too.  I'd hate myself if I leave and then you end up zoning on something.”

 

“Smart ass.  ...  Get ... going.”

 

With a cheeky grin, Blair gave a two fingered salute and then began to accelerate away, his stride now a ground-eating lope.  After three-quarters of a mile, Blair could no longer hear any of the other runners.  It was just him and the trail, just as he liked it.  He followed the trail-markers, neatly negotiating the various roots and tree branches that littered the trail.  Passing another of the checkpoints, he waved, shaking his head when offered some water and continued on his way, unaware of the stares of surprise that followed him.

 

**

 

“Oh, my ....” The sentiment was shared by most of those who heard the news.  Sandburg was in the lead, with Ellison trailing him by nearly half a mile, and Rafe half a mile further behind.  The next knot of men trailed Rafe by a good quarter mile.  Sandburg was only two miles away from the track, and then would have to travel  nearly it's full length before reaching the finish line.

 

Almost without realizing it, those in Major Crimes rose to their feet as a whistle was blown, indicating the first runner arriving on the track. As Blair Sandburg stepped foot on the tarmac, the stadium exploded in a cacophony of sound and movement.  The University students went wild, nearly deafening those around them as they enthusiastically screamed, shouted, and blew airhorns for their favorite Professor. The men and women in blue were just as excited and made it abundantly clear how they felt for the eccentric Observer.

 

Blair paced himself as he rounded the track, a half grin on his face.  His strides were fluid, arm movements  loose and wide, his hands cupped as if helping to propel himself forward.  He smoothly crossed the finish line, his grin nearly splitting his face in two.  He waved at everyone, his hands above his head in victory.  “Damn!  What a rush!”

 

Simon Banks' own grin almost rivaled that of his Observer.  Daryl whooped in joy, jumping up and down in glee.  He took off down the stairs of the bleachers, intent on personally congratulating his friend.  Joel raised a brow at Henri who nodded.  The two followed the youngster, their Captain behind them.

 

Blair continued to jog in place, his gaze on the entrance to the track. Those who used to running long distances recognized it as a way to cool down.  If a runner came to a dead stop after exerting themselves in such a manner the muscles would protest and lock up most painfully.

 

Not long afterward, Jim Ellison was given his own standing ovation as he entered the track.  The former Ranger had a focused look upon his face as me made the circuit,  Banks could hear Sandburg muttering under his breath, “You're doing good, Big Guy.  Nearly at the end. Just a bit further, so dial down on the background noise.”  Jim nodded, as if to himself, ignoring the blasting horns and cheers from the crowd.  They met up with the detective as he crossed the finish line.

 

Cooling down and stretching, the two partners stayed near the track waiting for the rest of the runners.  “Have you heard anything?” Blair asked.

 

Darryl nodded, “Rafe is still in third, he passed the last checkpoint a few minutes ago.  Megan's a bit further behind the main knot of runners, though no where near last, and still holding steady from what was mentioned.”

 

Joel handed the two bottles of water.  “Here, you look like you could use it.  Just go easy, or you'll make yourself sick.”

 

Jim saluted the ex-Bomb Squad Captain.  “Cheers.”  His breathing was only just beginning to return to normal.  “Man, it's been a while since I've run that far.  Tell me again why I put myself through this?” he grouched good-naturedly.

 

“Couldn't let me do this on my own, now, could you?” Blair shot back with a grin.

 

With a shake of his head, Jim fondly tousled his friend's hair.  “No. Couldn't have had that.  How you holding up, Chief?”

 

“Good. Tired, but it's a good tired.  I'll definitely be sleeping well tonight.”

 

“Sandburg!” Red and gold clad people waved their arms from the sidelines, trying to get his attention.

 

Blair looked over, then flashed a grin.  “Looks like my fan club wants to say hi.  I'll be right back.”  The Observer jogged over to the track team from Rainier who clustered around him to congratulate him on his victories.

 

“He's a popular one, isn't he?” Banks smiled, one eye on the young man, the other on the track entrance.

 

“It's easy to like Blair, he's interested.” Darryl replied.

 

A sidelong look, “Don't you mean interesting?”

 

“No. He's interested.  Interested in just about everything.  Which means he can connect to people easier because he can find common ground with a large range of people.” 

 


	4. Explanations...

Endurance to Spare

 

Chapter 4: “Explanations...”

 

Three days later, the Major Crimes crew gathered at Jim and Blair's loft apartment for poker night.  While the others arranged the living area to suit their needs, Henri, Joel, and Jim stood in the kitchen; ostensibly to help Blair with dinner, but in reality having a brief, intense discussion.

 

“Both Stone and Weaver were reprimanded for their actions.  That's a black mark in their files which could hinder any future promotions.  They've been required to visit with the department's shrink and to go through sensitivity training,” Taggart reported.

 

H looked sheepish, but squarely met Jim's stoney gaze.  “I was afraid you'd go ballistic over what happened and didn't want you to do anything that would jeopardize your career. Which is why I didn't mention it to you.  Joel caught wind of what was going on and we dealt with the situation.  Both men will be making a formal apology by week's end.”  He took a deep breath.  “They really are sorry. It was a poorly planned prank that backfired on them.  They didn't think out all the consequences.  That right there is really what's gong to keep them from advancing.”

 

Jim and Blair glanced at one another, a wealth of information exchanged in that brief moment.  Tense shoulders relaxed. “We'll see how the apology goes.  This could have had some serious repercussions.”

 

Henri nodded.  “Won't happen again,” he vowed.

 

Another glance and an impish grin crossed  Blair's features, “So.  How much did you make?”

 

**

 

Megan set her plate aside and focused her attention on Blair.  “Alright, Sandy.  I think I've been patient enough.  Care to explain how a tribe of Indians and being an anthropologist gave you an advantage in a marathon?”

 

Blair grinned as he leaned back in his chair.  “You mean, I can't just leave it at that?”

 

“NO!” came the collective response and warm laughter filled the room.

 

Chuckling, Blair raised a hand in surrender.  “Okay, okay.  Well, as you know, Naomi and I traveled a lot when I was younger and over the course of my life we've met a lot of interesting people.”  The others grinned at the understatement.

 

“Naomi had become friends with an anthropology professor, Jonathon Cassel, and his wife, Estelle. When Uncle Johnny had mentioned he was going to Mexico to study an isolated group of indigenous people, Naomi asked if we could come along.”

 

“How old were you, Blair?” Darryl asked.

 

“About fourteen.  The tribe live in an area called Barranca del Cobre, or Copper Canyon.  It's in the southwestern part of the state of Chihuahua.  Absolutely fascinating group of people.  As a collective, they're considered the greatest long distance endurance runners in the world.  They travel great distances, often running nonstop for hours. Their endurance is so great, they even hunt by literally chasing their prey until it drops from exhaustion. 

 

“They have this game they play, a race called 'rarahipa,'” Blair continued, his gesturing with his hands.  “It's played by kicking a wooden ball along the paths of the steep canyons.  On an average, these foot races cover anywhere from 60 to 80 miles.  Everyone runs nonstop until the finish.  It's not uncommon for a game to last for days and continue without breaks, even through the dark of night.”  
“I take it you've played?” Rafe asked, remembering the odd stutter-stride Blair used during part of the marathon race.

 

“A couple of times.  I wasn't very good at it.”  At the incredulous looks he elaborated.  “I was fast.  Had to be to get away from bullies.  But I couldn't keep the pace for long.  We were there for nearly six months and I got better, but I was no where near the ability of even kids younger then me.  Of course, they'd been doing this for as long as they could walk and I was a mere beginner.

 

“After our time with the Taramahara, I took a big interest in increasing my stamina and endurance.  Being able to travel by your own power for such long distances really appealed, especially since I'd decided anthropology was the career for me.  So I joined the track and cross country teams and practiced whenever I could.

 

“I had just started my graduate classes when my Anthro Professor assigned us a summer project.  I went back to Mexico.  It had been four years, but the elders of the tribe remembered me.  They were quite pleased with my improvements.   After about a month, they allowed me to join in the 'coming of age' ceremony for the young of the tribe.  It's a hundred mile race that must be completed between the hours of sunrise and sunset.  Youths are allowed to attempt the run as often as they like, and once completed, they become adults in the eyes of the tribe.”

 

Megan tilted her head, “How many times did it take you to complete the run?”

 

Blair gave a wry grin, “Four.  And the third time I was only half an hour away from my destination when the sun set.  Guess I don't have to tell you how frustrating that was.”

 

“You ran a hundred miles in a single day?” the awe in Darryl's voice was palatable.

 

Blair nodded, enjoying the look of shock and pride on the others' faces.

 

“Hell, no wonder you weren't worried,” Henri grinned.  “If we ever have to run a perp down, I know who I'm nominating.”

 

“Funny, H.  Really funny,” Blair snarked back with a grin of his own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N: This story was inspired by the book:  _Tarahumara Indians,_ by Jonathon F. Cassel.  Naylor Co. 1969.

 


End file.
